


Old Wounds

by KCKenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Protective Mace Windu, Qui-Gon Jinn Needs a Hug, Sad Obi-Wan Kenobi, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCKenobi/pseuds/KCKenobi
Summary: Mace Windu always agreed that Obi-Wan Kenobi was meant to be a Jedi Knight. However, he didn't share Yoda's certainty that the boy was meant to be Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan. When Qui-Gon returns from Melida/Daan without Obi-Wan, Mace takes matters into his own hands and sets off for Melida/Daan himself.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Mace Windu, Qui-Gon Jinn & Mace Windu, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 85
Kudos: 1220
Collections: 2020 Obi-Wan Kenobi Gen Exchange





	Old Wounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaiKusakabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/gifts).



> For the 2020 Kenobi Gen Fic Exchange

When he saw the starship touch down on Melida/Daan’s rocky surface, Obi-Wan felt hot tears prick his eyes.

He was running, holding his tattered robe up in one hand so it didn’t catch on the brambles that tore at his shins, and the air felt thick as it puffed in and out of his lungs. The atmosphere smelled of blaster fire and smoke—though after months on the wartorn planet, Obi-Wan had gotten used to it. He imagined he smelled of it, too. He was a part of this place now.

Or, so he’d thought. Until Nield and the others had turned on him. Until Cerasi had died. Until he was lost, and alone, and had no one else to turn to. He was 13 years old, yet he felt as ancient as Master Yoda. The fate of this world fell to him. And he had no idea what to do.

But for the first time in weeks, watching the Jedi-issued spacecraft power down its thrusters, he felt a twinge of hope in his chest.

_He came back. Qui-Gon really came back for me._

And so, letting his loss and his fear seep away, he ran.

The boarding ramp descended. Obi-Wan stood at the bottom, trying to control the nerves that threatened to spill out onto his face—would Qui-Gon still be angry? Was he just coming out of obligation? Would he rebuke him again, or worse, not say anything at all? He was suddenly struck by the memory of the last time he stood in this very spot—drawing his lightsaber on Qui-Gon, who then did the same. The fight had fizzled before it began. But as he’d watched his master turn his back, Obi-Wan felt as though Qui-Gon had struck him down anyway.

A pair of large boots appeared at the top of the boarding ramp. Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his throat. And he decided that whatever Qui-Gon’s response would be—whether he yelled and screamed or didn’t say a word—he would gladly take it. _Because he’s here_ , _and that’s enough,_ Obi-Wan thought. _I don’t deserve more._

The boots started down the ramp, and then became legs, and then a waist and shoulders and a face.

But not the face Obi-Wan had been expecting.

Looking down at him was not Qui-Gon Jinn, his master—his _former_ master.

It was Mace Windu.

.•° ✿ °•.

The boy looked bad.

Outwardly, Mace kept his expression warm, his mental shields firmly in place. But as he took in the cuts and scrapes on Obi-Wan’s face, the scorching on his clothes and the emptiness in his eyes, he felt anger surging in his throat like bile and could barely choke it back down. Because standing in front of him was a _child_. A wise one, a capable one, but a child nonetheless.

“Master Windu. I wasn’t…I didn’t expect…” the boy stammered. He coughed, and the motion sent a puff of dirt into the air. “Thank you for coming. I…I thought no one would come back for me.”

Mace struggled to bite back the words that rushed to his mind: _I thought no one would have_ left _you._

Instead, he smiled. “Padawan Kenobi,” he said softly. He noticed the boy straighten slightly at the title. “Help will always come to those who ask for it. Just as you have given it to those who asked you.”

At that, Obi-Wan’s face darkened. “Master…I’ve made a mistake. I thought I could help them. I thought—” His voice cracked, and Mace felt a pang in his chest as the boy swallowed hard. “Everything’s falling apart. People are fighting in the streets. Kids are dying. And I think it’s m-my fault.”

Obi-Wan’s voice had been wavering from the beginning, and Mace watched his throat bob up and down as though it were tied in knots. He gave the boy a moment to compose himself before realizing that the opposite was happening—his lip was quivering. His face crumbled. His eyes started to shine before he sucked in a breath and closed them tight.

But it didn’t stop the tears from falling.

Before Mace even registered that he was moving, he stepped toward the boy and knelt in front of him. When he set both hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his heart ached at their trembling.

“Obi-Wan,” he said softly, “it’s not your fault. You’ve given everything to help these people.”

“And it wasn’t enough.”

The boy looked up, scrubbing a hand across his face before the tears dripped off his chin. It smeared the dirt, and Mace could just make out a cloud of freckles underneath.

“A Jedi is a Jedi not because he or she is omnipotent. We do not have the power to right every wrong and heal every ill, sprinkling peace about the galaxy like rainwater. But this is not what is asked of us.” Mace searched his face, but Obi-Wan was looking down. “What is asked of us is that we try. We pass through this life only once. We do what good we are able, and release that which we’re not. And though you can’t help everyone, you may help someone. And even one is enough.”

The boy looked up then. The conflict in his face was easy to read, and his gaze flickered everywhere and nowhere at once. But then his eyes were filling up again, and he covered his mouth as a sob choked out, and suddenly Mace was folding him into his arms.

“Shh,” he whispered into the boy’s hair. “You’ve done so well, Padawan. So well.” Obi-Wan’s chest shuddered against his own. “But you don’t have to finish this alone.”

.•° ✿ °•.

In the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Qui-Gon Jinn was meditating.

Well, he was trying to. His thoughts kept drifting rather forcefully back toward a certain former Padawan, tinged with anger and ache and something else he couldn’t name. Though he sought peace, he found none. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t found it in a long time.

So when he felt a familiar presence in front of him, it was easy to sink back into reality. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up.

“Mace,” Qui-Gon said, and immediately warmth flooded his chest. “It’s good to see you, old friend. I’d heard you were gone on a mission, though not where—”

“It wasn’t a mission.”

He didn’t expect to hear such coldness in Mace Windu’s voice. Surprised, he got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his trousers from the patch of garden he’d been sitting in.

“Oh?” he said guardedly. “A personal matter of yours?”

“Actually, a personal matter of _yours_.” Mace’s face was inscrutable, and somehow that made Qui-Gon even more uneasy. “On Melida/Daan.”

As if an airlock had opened in his chest, Qui-Gon felt the breath sucked from his lungs. _Oh_.

Outwardly, he kept his face blank. “I don’t believe there are any matters on Melida/Daan that concern me anymore, Mace.”

“No, I don’t suppose there are. Because I went after such _matters_ myself and brought them back to the Temple.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t help the way his eyes widened. “Obi-Wan. Is he…?”

“The healers are taking care of him now. Because, as you so placidly told Yoda, he was lucky to escape with his life.” Mace’s eyes were no longer carefully blank—there was overt anger in them now. “Were you truly so cold as to wish that upon him? To…how did you put it… ‘Let him fight a war he can’t win? Let him stand and watch the massacre that will result?’”

Qui-Gon’s face grew hot as the memory of that particular conversation with Master Yoda came back to him. “I wasn’t _wishing_ that on him. It was reality.”

“Because you made it his reality, Qui-Gon.”

“We had a mission. There are rules.”

“Which you have no qualms about breaking when it suits you. But as soon as you’re looking for a reason to reopen old wounds, suddenly the rules are set in stone.”

At that, Qui-Gon’s face darkened. “I have no old wounds. It’s simply a fact: Obi-Wan betrayed me.”

“No. Xanatos betrayed you.” Mace noticed how Qui-Gon flinched at the name, but he didn’t waver. “And you’ve been training Obi-Wan with your fingers crossed since day one, expecting him to do the same. When you gave Obi-Wan the choice, to do what he felt was right or to do what would please you, you created your own self-fulfilling prophesy. Because it was easier, right? Easier than acknowledging that not everyone is going to hurt you the way you’ve been hurt before.”

Qui-Gon felt himself recoil, turning away briefly so that Mace couldn’t see the pain in his face. _Easier?_ He thought it was _easier_ for Qui-Gon to walk away? To experience for the second time the agony of betrayal?

But there was something in Mace’s words that made him pause— “ _…to do what he felt was right or to do what would please you.”_ Obi-Wan’s face appeared in his mind—his brow furrowed, face caked with sweat and dirt, his eyes set and determined and afraid. The image had lived there behind Qui-Gon’s eyelids for weeks, and for weeks it had sparked his anger. But now, his heart twisted with something else—shame.

Qui-Gon knew he had given Obi-Wan a choice. But maybe it wasn’t the choice he thought—between the Jedi and the Young. It was a choice between his own comfort and his convictions. Between his own life and those of people who needed help. And as a Jedi, wouldn’t he want Obi-Wan always to choose the latter?

“I shouldn’t have left.” Qui-Gon kept his back turned, and his words came softly. “Even if I thought he was wrong. I should have stayed.”

Mace was silent, and if not for his Force signature, Qui-Gon might not have known he was still behind him.

“I just kept thinking about…about the last time a Padawan drew his lightsaber on me. And that was all I could see when I looked at him.” He ran both hands down his face, exhaling. “I just…I’ve never been able to trust that someone else won’t turn on me like that again. Even when Obi-Wan…he’s _different_ , he’s not like Xanatos. But I still expected him to be, and when he wasn’t…”

Words failed Qui-Gon then. He turned around, where Mace was watching with a still expression. The storm was gone from his eyes now, though the darkness remained.

“He wants to come back to you,” Mace said softly. “He wants you to train him.”

Qui-Gon’s throat felt tight. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can’t forgive him?”

“No. I can’t forgive my _self_.” He inhaled slowly, though it sounded like a shudder. “I didn’t think I could do this again—train a Padawan. I wasn’t…I’m not healed. You were right. The old wounds still hurt. And now I’m letting them hurt someone else.”

Qui-Gon was shocked to find his eyes burning. He hadn’t cried since…

Xanatos’s face appeared in his mind, and he pushed it away.

“He’s meant to be a Jedi. I know that much,” he said, and Mace nodded his agreement. “But I don’t know that I’m meant to be his master. I don’t know that I could be _any_ one’s master right now.” He finally brought himself to meet Mace’s eyes, even as the shame burned in his cheeks. “What am I going to do?”

The anger was long gone from his friend’s face. He put one hand on Qui-Gon’s arm and squeezed.

“You’re going to heal.”

.•° ✿ °•.

Obi-Wan decided that he officially hated painkillers.

He’d insisted he didn’t need any—it had been weeks since he’d hit his head in the last Battle of Zehava, and it really didn’t bother him much anymore unless he looked into bright lights. But Master Che had taken one look at the way he squinted at the open window before she held a hand over his forehead, instantly muttering “concussion.” She was handing him a little cup of pills before he could even say a word.

And so the pain medication had just begun to kick in, making him drowsy and dazed, when Master Windu appeared in the doorway.

Obi-Wan tried to straighten in bed, though the IV prevented him from moving very much. “Hello, Master Windu.”

“Obi-Wan.” He moved to the side of Obi-Wan’s bed, and though his expression was neutral, there was warmth to it. “How are you feeling? I see Master Che has tended to your injuries—”

“I’m fine, Master. Really. I don’t see why I need to be here at all.” He shifted again, and the movement of the IV caused the bag of fluids beside the bed to slide on its rack. “My head hardly hurts anymore, and the scrapes are barely anything—I’ve had worse skinning my knees as a youngling, I swear—”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Mace’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was firm. “You suffered a traumatic brain injury when you were thrown from an explosion. You’re malnourished and dehydrated, and your cortisol levels—hormones elevated by _stress_ , might I remind you—are off the charts.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but look away—Mace’s gaze was so intense, it felt like looking into a pulsar. He wished he hadn’t told Master Che about giving up his meals for the other children on Melida/Daan. Though she’d commended his compassion, there was no denying she was livid, and she’d clearly passed the sentiment on to Master Windu. For a moment, his face showed the same incensed spark.

“The others on Melida/Daan were worse.” Obi-Wan stiffened at the thought of all he’d left behind. “I don’t deserve to be taken care of like this when the others…”

“Stop right there,” Master Windu said, holding up a hand. “You deserve to be taken of. Period.”

“I just meant…when others are suffering…and after all the mistakes I’ve made…”

“You could make every mistake in the galaxy and still be worthy of care and compassion.”

The certainty in Master Windu’s voice stopped him cold. How could he believe that so ardently? Obi-Wan struggled to see how he was worthy of anything at all. It felt like everything he’d ever done had been wrong—even what little good he’d accomplished wasn’t enough to undo that. And now he was here, being treated with kindness he didn’t deserve from the people and the life he’d forsaken…

Obi-Wan felt his throat start to get tight. _No._ He would _not_ cry in front of Mace Windu again. And certainly not twice in one day.

So he swallowed and nodded.

Mace had been hovering a few feet from his bedside, but now he knelt beside Obi-Wan’s head.

“I spoke to Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan heard the beeping grow faster on the heart-monitor he was hooked to. _Don’t get your hopes up, don’t get your hopes up, don’t get…_

“He came by earlier,” Obi-Wan heard himself say, though his voice didn’t feel like his own. “H-he apologized. But…he isn’t going to take me back.”

Mace nodded. “I know.”

Obi-Wan’s heart fell. _So he’s not here to tell me Qui-Gon changed his mind_.

Obi-Wan understood, to some degree, what his master had told him that afternoon. That he wasn’t ready to train another Padawan. That he’d made a mistake, and it had hurt Obi-Wan, and he didn’t want that to happen again. And as much as Obi-Wan wanted to accept it with a Jedi’s resolve, to face the future outside the Order with dignity, he hadn’t been able to stop his eyes from welling up as Qui-Gon had left the Halls of Healing—taking his dreams of becoming a Jedi with him.

“I understand. You’re here to tell me the Council’s verdict.” He swallowed again, begging the lump in his throat to go away. “I can have my bags packed as soon as Master Che lets me leave. Or sooner, if Bant does it for me, I’m sure she would—”

“Obi-Wan.” Master Windu’s strong voice anchored him back to the moment. “No one’s asking you to leave. Not unless you want to.”

“…no?”

“And personally,” he continued, “I’m hoping you don’t want to. You’re a credit to the order, Padawan Kenobi.”

At that, Obi-Wan felt his face blanch. “I’m not a Padawan anymore.”

“You’re not Qui-Gon’s Padawan anymore, no.” Something changed in Mace’s eyes—a brightness filled them, brightness for which Obi-Wan couldn’t identify a reason. “But I was rather hoping,” he said, “that you might be mine.”

_Where’s Master Che?_ Obi-Wan thought vaguely. _I’ve got to tell her these painkillers have a strange side effect. They’re giving me crazy hallucinations. For instance, I’m pretty sure I just heard Mace Windu just ask me to be his Padawan._

Obi-Wan suddenly realized he was still staring at Master Windu and blinked. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I misheard you.”

Master Windu laughed—he actually _laughed_. “You didn’t mishear me.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, expression warm. “Obi-Wan Kenobi…I would be honored to take you as my Padawan Learner.”

And as Obi-Wan nodded—his heart monitor beeping off the charts, unable to even find the breath to utter _yes—_ the Force hummed in harmony.

.•° ✿ °•.

Mace began his new Padawan braid.

With each twist of the hair, the frazzled strands coming back together, he imagined that something else was restored, too. There were still old wounds. Some new ones, too. For everyone.

But they would heal. Mace looked at the boy now—his eyes had started to flutter as he lost the battle against exhaustion. He was so young. So small. His future so uncertain.

But one thing, Mace knew for sure: Obi-Wan Kenobi would become a Jedi. He would travel the galaxy, bring peace, bring healing. And somewhere along the way, Mace hoped the boy would find those things for himself, too.

_But in the meantime_ , Mace thought as he dimmed the lights and stepped quietly out of the room, _he will rest._

**Author's Note:**

> Lol when I got assigned this prompt for the fic exchange, I hadn’t read the Jedi Apprentice series so I had a lovely time speedreading the first five books. Anyway, thank you for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated 😊
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! @ [ kckenobi ](https://kckenobi.tumblr.com/)


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